


Ownership

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, Sex, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 12:40:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21208685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: In the beginning, Spock tried not to get close.





	Ownership

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He tries to resist, he really does. Relationships have proven nothing but a complication—he isn’t strong enough yet to weather them without having them whittle away what little logic he has. Spock tries so hard to be _Vulcan_, and non-essential intimacy seems little more than a _human_ luxury he can’t afford. It isn’t a struggle he’ll ever breathe aloud. If his father were to ask, Spock would report that he is fine: he is a fully rational creature, capable of just as successful a relationship as his father held. But privately, Spock knows that isn’t true. He still has so much to learn. 

He still has so many weakness, like the way his captain looks at him across the dimmed lights of their bridge in an emergency—just a brief flicker of _concern_ and _care_ that can’t be at all productive. They leave the bridge together, and their hands brush in the turbolift, and that tiny point of contact is enough to leave Spock reeling—his temperature spikes and his breath quickens. Jim cracks a joke in the messhall, and suddenly Spock wants to _smile_, even though he doesn’t understand the humour in it. He just likes seeing the joy on Jim’s handsome face. What it boils down to in the end is that most of Spock’s failings are all tied up in _Jim_, and Spock should stay away.

But Spock’s never felt as whole as he does when he’s in Jim’s arms, sharing heady kisses in the dark heat of his quarters. They stumble backwards around his desk, past his console, too lost in each other’s mouths to ask the computer to light the way. They reach Spock’s bed, and they tumble down, by now so intertwined that nothing could possibly tear them apart. Jim’s hands roam Spock’s body, leaving sparks of fire in their wake. Spock shudders for air and breathes, “_Jim._”

It’s not enough. It never is. Spock lurches forward, releasing full Vulcan strength, rolling on top to pin his captain down, and Jim only lifts up to meet him. Their mouths crash together, a mess of tongues and teeth while their fingers claw at clothing. Spock’s tunic is ripped away, then Jim’s, their shoes are kicked off and their pants are opened—Spock needs more _skin on skin._ His hands itch to touch Jim’s face, to spread across the right points that will meld them—he wants to surge into Jim’s mind like a raging ion storm and claim Jim for his own. He knows that Jim, somehow, is strong enough to take him. He knows that Jim would welcome the connection. They’d mingle well together, melt into _one_ and become greater for it. Spock wants to whisper his adoration right under Jim’s skin. 

Jim is sweaty and slick and burning up. He’s inside Spock first, clutching Spock’s hips as Spock rides his captain, and then they change positions—Spock bearing down and sliding into Jim. Jim clutches on, rolls them over, and they rub together, side-by-side across the wrinkled blankets. Spock bruises another kiss into the side of Jim’s neck and realizes that he’s left one too many marks—the violent scrape of teeth litters Jim shoulders. Some will show over his collar. They’ll have to make a discreet trip to sickbay. In the moment, Spock finds that so _deeply satisfying_—he wants Dr. McCoy, Jim’s other closest friend, to know what Spock has done: to know that Jim is so thoroughly _his_. It’s a shameful, ridiculously _human_ feeling, but it crawls through Spock’s veins. He kisses Jim with the full force of his jealousy and victory. 

Jim kisses him back just as fiercely. Jim moans his name and digs the angry grooves of fingerprints deep into his skin. Spock flushes green with lust. He ruts against Jim with everything he has. 

He reaches a point where there are no more thoughts, no more actions—he’s nothing but a writhing mess of pure emotions: something so horribly forbidden. It feels _so good_. It’s a mind-numbing pleasure. He finishes with a feral cry and his eyes scrunch shut, because he can’t take seeing Jim’s beauty any longer. 

Jim finishes so close to him. They’re always so close in everything. In some ways, they couldn’t be more different, but they _belong together._ In those fleeting moments of ecstasy, Spock’s never been more sure of anything. 

Then it’s slowly ebbing out and he’s himself again. They’re lying next to one another, breathing hard—even Spock—and slick with sweat and other things. Shame snakes along Spock’s body like an avid virus. He stares into Jim’s dilated eyes and wants to cry. 

Jim recovers first. He pushes slowly up, sitting there in Spock’s bed, looking both right at home and not at all a part of Spock’s plans. He leans down to brush his lips chastely across Spock’s shoulder. 

He collects his clothes. He dresses right there, where Spock can see, and Spock wants to avert his eyes but can’t. At the end, Jim opens his mouth like he wants to talk.

He sees Spock, and the words die on his tongue. Spock croaks out, “Good evening, Captain.”

Jim says, “Commander.” He licks his lips. But then he straightens into the man that Spock admires: the impenetrable captain of the _Enterprise_ that belongs to no one. He leaves without another word. 

His scent lingers. The memories linger. The evidence still stains the sheets. Spock shuts his eyes and tells himself that this will be the final time. He’ll meditate now, clear his mind, and no longer give in to such base desires like some thoughtless sehlat in heat. He is a creature of _logic_, unbound to urges. And it works. 

Until he sees Jim next, and his heart opens up again.


End file.
